Song For The Fallen
by ScopesMonkey
Summary: [TTT: Theatrical release.] After Aragorn's presumed death during the battle with the wargs, Legolas reflects on his own future and that of the quest. NO SLASH.


_Author's Note_: This is based off of the theatrical release of The Two Towers. There is absolutely **no**slash.

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything relating to LOTR, either the books or the movies. Those are owned by the Tolkien Estate and Alliance Atlantis. I am not making money off of this. This is purely for my own amusement.

* * *

There is a moment after this battle when I am not even sure it's really over. It seems to have gone on for only seconds and, at the same time, my entire lifetime. I gasp in a breath, then remember enough to look up and around. Men on horses and on foot are wandering about, some of them executing the wolves or their riders, others helping fallen friends, chasing after frightened horses– one of which is mine. I watch it caught, then spin around, suddenly remembering who I am and where I am.

I see Gimli.

I don't see Aragorn.

I look around hurriedly, but Elvish eyesight fails me now. Has he fallen? My eyes start combing the fallen warriors, but he isn't among them.

My legs move of their own accord.

I am almost running, in a near-blind panic, and Gimli is close beside me. There's a cliff not far ahead and my mind makes an unwanted connection… There's a dead wolf and a fallen Orc dying on the grass.

"Aragorn!" Someone else shouts it from nearby.

Gimli grabs the Orc, shaking him violently, demanding to know where Aragorn is. Demanding to know what happened.

The reply drives me cold.

He fell. Over the cliff.

There is nothing suddenly but a black, blinding rage. I grab him, screaming at him, despite Gimli's promise that he would help pass the Orc's passage in exchange for the truth. A Dwarf with an axe is nothing now. This enemy is lying. He must be.

I know he is… Only for one small precious moment.

Then I see the Evenstar. Arwen Undomiel's priceless gift to Aragorn. An Elf cannot deny something like that.

Slowly, I can take it from the Orc's dirty, dead hand into my own. If Gimli's speaking, I can't hear him. I rise, make my way to the cliff.

Only the rushing water flows past.

There is nothing down there, not even blood. No body. The river has claimed him.

I feel cold again. I hear Theoden commanding us to leave the fallen. As I look around, I feel like ice. Leave the fallen. Even if we could have taken the fallen, there wasn't the body of my old friend to take with us.

Gimli says my name and I look down. Someone is bringing us our horse. Wildly, I look around. Aragorn's horse is nowhere to be seen. My hand tightens around the Evenstar, and the jewel threatens to cut through my skin. I relax my grip just enough to prevent that.

A traitor thought enters my mind: Elrond has the gift of foresight.

I swallow down on that. Hard.

Two Men are helping Gimli onto the horse; one offers me aid. I shake my head numbly and climb on in front of the Dwarf, stroking the horse's mane in an absent fashion. Nothing seems real anymore.

Theoden gives the order to move and the horse does so of its own biding. I'm aware of the gentle trot, and hold on so as not to fall off, but that seems to be all I can feel. Gimli is holding on behind me, and we fall in at the end of the line. Neither of us can seem to think of any words to say.

Grief clutches my stomach and my still-traitor mind comes up with more torture.

_Now who will lead us?_

I suddenly feel sick, leaning forward slightly, and Gimli must have noticed. He demands in his sharp voice what the problem is. I can only shake my head.

If Gandalf never returns…

I have no idea how far Sam and Frodo have gone, indeed, if they are safely in Mordor yet. If one can call being in Mordor being safe. I know that Pippin and Merry are safe enough with the Ents. But I don't know where Gandalf is, or what fates could befall the White Wizard. And Aragorn is dead…

It's like losing Gandalf all over again. The despair is cutting, and my legs are numb. Part of me wants to run, somewhere, anywhere, away, away. That part quavers and cowers.

We are without our leader.

For three days, without sleep or rest, we chased the band of Uruk-hai over the plains to free Merry and Pippin. If it hadn't been for Aragorn, we would have thought them dead in the burning pile of Orc corpses. If Aragorn hadn't been able to lead us into the forest, would we have met Gandalf again?

Until we met Gandalf, Aragorn led us.

Now it is only Gimli and myself, without any leaders.

My head spins. I am not old enough to know what to do. For one of my people, I am young, and feel even younger. Most would consider me barely out of boyhood, despite my proven skills as a warrior, and now I feel more like a child than I ever have.

In the ways Dwarves divide their lives, Gimli is older than me.

Could he lead us?

Where do we go if he does? Where do we go if I do?

A sudden recollection of Arwen makes me want to vomit again. I sag forward, only Gimli's quick reaction keeps me on the horse.

"Legolas!" he snaps.

I nod, able to do nothing else.

The heir of Gondor is dead, and where is the one who gave him the jewel I'm still clutching? Off to Valinor, I've heard.

Valinor…

The name and the images tempt me more than anything ever has. More, I'm sure, than the One Ring can ever tempt anyone. I can hear the words of Elrond in my head: the time of the Elves is ending. The age of Men is approaching, if Sauron can be defeated. If not, then the age of Darkness will take us.

Valinor…

Where this land and these friends would only be green memories, happily preserved, never to bother me. Where death is unknown. Where life is always young, always fresh. Where nightmares cannot follow.

I close my eyes tightly.

I am in the world of Men, surrounded by Men and one Dwarf.

The Evenstar hurts my hand as I clutch it.

Valinor…

If I ever go, I tell myself, it won't be until this is done.

An unbidden thought pops into my head: And I will take Gimli with me!

Shocked, I straighten a bit. Has there ever been a Dwarf who sailed to Valinor? Would the Three allow it?

But Galadriel knows Gimli…

I shift the Evenstar to my other hand. So be it. I made a vow, if only to myself. The lady of Lorien knows this Dwarf, and if ever a Dwarf deserved the undying lands, it was Gimli.

_If I ever go, I will take him_, I think.

Still that doesn't change the present.

I hope beyond hope that Gandalf returns. He returned once… From the depths of the earth, from the clutches of a Balrog. Surely he could return from a simple search party.

With Aragorn's death looming all around me, I find no comfort in Gandalf's past victories.

"We will carry on for him," Gimli growls behind me.

I nod again. I don't know if I can, but what choice do I have?

Too much which was loved and held dear has been lost. I close my eyes and picture Rivendell when we come over the rise and see Helm's Deep. Rivendell's peace and beauty hangs in my soul for a moment, then vanishes to reality. Helm's Deep, from this distance, seems no more than a small carving. It seems too small, too easily vanquished. Uneasily, I glance around, but the Men of Rohan do not feel my discomfort. There is the tenuous joy of hope in their faces. Theoden leads us onward, but the distance seems greater to me than to the others. I see everything stretched out before us, so uncertain, so dependent on… What? Frodo, I suppose. Really, nothing else matters, does it.

Except that Aragorn is dead and _that_ does matter, even if it only matters to his friends. What would the rest of my people think about it, if they thought about it at all?

Our welcome into Helm's Deep is confused and emotional for the warriors and the waiting women and children. I slide off my horse, putting the Evenstar around my neck, feeling weary. Someone helps Gimli off; I take no notice. I have seen the Lady Eowyn welcoming her uncle back, then searching for Aragorn.

What am I supposed to tell her? It is plain to see that she fancies Aragorn, and I do not feel much like speaking to her. She will be hurt. She looked upon Aragorn with a woman's eyes. Gimli and I accompanied him across the lands as a friend and looked upon him as our leader.

"Where is Lord Aragorn?" her voice says and I see she's speaking to me.

I can only say one small thing: "He has fallen."

And now it feels true.

It is all I can do to stay on my feet as I stagger off with my horse, leaving Gimli to deal with the Lady. There are people everywhere–humans–but they part to let me pass, a few of them staring at the Elf that I am, a few offering thanks or condolences. Can they see on my face that I'm suffering?

The stables aren't suitable enough for these horses but what choice do we have? I give mine to a young boy. A groom at his age? Above us, there is a low loft with hay. While the boy is occupied, I crawl up, taking off my bow, quiver, and pack and laying them aside, then staring up at the ceiling carved into the rock. I sleep less than these Men, but right now, I am exhausted. Elf though I may, it has been too long since I've really slept and I cannot fight to stay awake, no matter how hard I try. Grief and fatigue swallow me. When I dream, I dream of death. Everywhere, death. It is not enough that Aragorn has died. Elves lay dead everywhere, Dwarves crawl from their mines to die. Everything seems to be laid to waste.

Then I stop dreaming.

I jerk awake sometime later and an instantly aware of how stiff I am. Groaning to myself, I sit up slightly, looking around. Nothing around me has been disturbed. Grimacing, I move my arms and flex my feet, then realize my folly. Too long have I foregone any rest at all. I have spoiled myself by sleeping in this soft hay.

For a moment, I wonder why my mouth feels so dry and pasty, and why I feel so weighed down.

Then I remember.

I touch the Evenstar around my neck.

Arwen is sailing to Valinor…

I close my eyes hard again.

No, I can't make the journey to Valinor to return this. Not yet. Perhaps Elrond will still be in middle earth if this madness ever ends… If I am still alive.

I roll onto my side, then make a face. I am hungry, hungrier than I realized under the burden of Aragorn's death. I grab my pack and pull out a piece of _lembas_. I allow myself only a small bite and it refreshes me, but doesn't wash away my pain.

It leaves me with more.

I feel a deep, undeniable longing for my home, for my people. I want nothing more to see the faces of other Elves, to forget the troubles of Men, to listen to Elvish voices in song, to be safe again amongst my own kind. They seem so far away now; everything familiar does. I can see the faces of my mother and father, and of my young sister. She sticks in my mind the most, her child's face always appearing alight, her blue eyes always shining. What I wouldn't give, I realize, to hear her laugh again, to have her chase me around the forests and glens of our home, to hear her begging that I read to her or tell her tales.

I put the bread away.

"Will you lead them, Legolas?" her young voice sounds in my memory, so real and close that I jerk and look up, certain that she is there.

"I am too young," I whisper. "I am not a leader. Not here. Not now. The Dwarf is older than I in his people's reckoning."

"Will you lead them, Legolas?" she whispers again.

I want to say no; I cannot. Who else is there? Can I lead Gimli? Can Gimli lead me? It seems we're both evenly matched. Perhaps neither of us will lead. Perhaps we will both lead each other, and both accompany each other.

We need Gandalf. We need Aragorn.

I want to laugh bitterly. Aragorn said, after Gandalf's fall, that he needed Gandalf to lead him. That he was not meant to lead. Yet he had. He had led us to the knowledge that Merry and Pippin were alive and well, and led us right back to the White Wizard. He would have led Men in war– of this, I am sure.

Who is to take up his position now that he's gone?

I lay still for what seems a long time, then I become aware of a low sound. At first, I think it is someone crying, then I realize it isn't. Slowly, I sit up and gather my belongings before climbing back down to the main stable. It is dim and unoccupied, except for one lone figure sitting near my horse's stall. Even in the weak light, my Elvish eyesight lets me see that the figure isn't a child, but a Dwarf.

It is Gimli, and I realize he is chanting softly.

I move to sit down beside him and he glances up, meeting my eyes, and keeps up his low chant. It is in Dwarfish and I do not understand it. One day, I vow, I will learn his language. And I will teach him mine.

He voices my constant thoughts.

"Now what, eh, Master Elf?"

Bitterness creeps through me.

"These are not supposed to be the affairs of Elves and Dwarfs," I mutter, that same bitterness biting my voice. I am surprised by it and resent it. Just as I resent Elrond for believing what I have just said. If there were more Dwarfs and Elves fighting now… I don't know how to end that thought.

Gimli grunts. That is his only reply. He goes back to his low, mourning chant in Dwarfish.

I close my eyes, listening to him for a moment, then joined in, in Elvish. For the moment, there is nothing else to do. Tomorrow may bring more battles or more waiting. It may bring Gandalf. It may bring Frodo and Sam to the fires of Mount Doom. I sincerely doubt it will bring Aragorn back to us. I know, in my heart, there is nothing else I can do for my friend, so I mourn. Soon, I will have to give my attention to other matters, and Aragorn will have to fall into the back of my thoughts. I mourn him now, because it is the only chance I will get, and there is a cold feeling in me that the Elves of Lorien won't be raising their voices, at least not for many months to come, if ever. I am the only Elf who can do so, and only for a short time. When it comes time for a leader, I don't know if Gimli will rise as that, or if I will. Right now, we sing together, in soft voices, in different tongues, for the little time we were allowed.


End file.
